


A World of Our Own

by Ultirex



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Confessions, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Minor Cygate and Simpatico, Pining, Post-Canon, Rodimus: I'm having feelings again like some 14 year old kid, spoilers for lost light
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:08:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22174564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ultirex/pseuds/Ultirex
Summary: Rodimus Prime does not pine. Drift proves to be the exception to the rule.They may have saved the universe, but there’s still peace to be made.
Relationships: Drift | Deadlock/Rodimus | Rodimus Prime
Comments: 11
Kudos: 98





	A World of Our Own

**Author's Note:**

  * For [1BloodandTeeth3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/1BloodandTeeth3/gifts).



> For Ghouls, who understands my deep need for post-canon Driftrod. <3
> 
> Spoilers for the ending of _Lost Light_.

"There’s got to be a pretty good story there,” Drift said, nodding in the direction of Cyclonus and Tailgate.

Rodimus followed Drift’s gaze with his own. Sure enough, the duo was stationed by one of the portholes in the mess hall, inseparable as they were since their reunion at Mederi. 

Tailgate was perched on Cyclonus’ shoulders, his hands surely as animated as his chatter as he gestured at the cosmos just beyond the plane of glass. Cyclonus’ grip on him was steady and sure, and Rodimus couldn’t help but marvel at how those claws were capable of such tenderness. The dangerous glint of them was like an afterthought in the face of Tailgate’s unbridled glee.

“Guess you weren’t around to see most of it, huh,” Rodimus mused. 

Guilt had a habit of rearing its head in such moments, when Drift’s exile went from a lingering regret to an actively oppressive presence on Rodimus’ shoulders. Drift had become adept at reading everything from the cant of Rodimus’ spoiler to the hue of his optics to know when to shut such spirals down. 

“We’ve got all the time in the world now,” Drift quietly assured him. “You’ll have to tell me all about it sometime.”

He reached across the table and gave Rodimus’ restless hand a squeeze. After a moment Rodimus reciprocated.

“All the time in the world,” Rodimus repeated. His expression took a moment to shift from somber to elated as he grappled once again with the fact that they’d cheated all logic and reason and created what felt like their own slice of the universe. “Yeah. Gotta say, I like the sound of that.”

“I’m sure you’re not the only one who feels that way,” Drift said, his smile turning mischievous in that way it had a habit of doing around Rodimus. “Simpatico, twelve-o-clock.”

Rodimus was far more conspicuous with his observation, but fortunately the two resident scientists were too occupied with each other to notice him turn around. A set of blueprints was unfurled on the table in front of them, and it was only thanks to Perceptor’s vigilance that they were saved from a spilled cube as Brainstorm walked through the details with emphatic gestures that reached as far as the tips of his wings. 

“Well that one was pretty obvious,” Rodimus said before taking a swig from his own morning ration. He propped his chin up in his hand, putting on his best air of nonchalance. “Put two nerds together like this and it’s only a matter of time before they start making goo goo eyes at each other over, I dunno, sciency shit.”

“You mean magic,” Drift teased with a criminally straight face.

Rodimus nudged him with a foot under the table. “Yeah, magic, you aft. What’s gotten into you today?”

Drift shrugged. “Don’t know. Must be all the love in the air.”

Rodimus was prepared to argue what he assumed to be nothing more than a snarky comment until it struck him that maybe Drift had a point. 

He took another glance at Cyclonus and Tailgate, noticing for the first time that Cyclonus’ horns - which at that moment were essentially glorified handlebars for Tailgate - were adorned by the tacky little warmers that Tailgate had knit. They certainly lacked Ten’s level of craftsmanship or grasp of color theory, but despite the clashing colors and loose stitching Cyclonus wore them proudly. 

“I guess,” Rodimus conceded, and it took a conscious effort to ignore the way Lug and Anode were sipping from the same cube at the table across from him. “Y’know, I never really expected this. People settling down left and right like - yeah. This. Guess it just sorta comes with the whole ‘quest’ thing.”

“I think it’s sweet,” Drift said. He gave his energon a thoughtful swirl. “The crew has been through a lot together over the past few years. It makes sense that they’d grow closer and want something more than they had during the war.”

“You sound like you know a thing or two about that,” Rodimus said, incredulous enough for it to almost sound like an accusation. 

“Do I?” Drift said, and he managed to keep his composure for a beat before his attempt at maintaining an air of mystery dissolved into laughter. 

Rodimus decided not to dwell on his disappointment at the lack of an answer before joining in.

**______________________________**

“I think I’m sick,” Rodimus announced without any preamble. 

Ratchet didn’t look up from the stack of datapads he was hunched over at his little desk in the corner of the medbay. It was something of a miracle that he’d given his old one to First Aid, but even such a large concession from him wasn’t enough to remove him entirely.

“You’ll have to be more specific than that,” Ratchet said. He scrawled something down before removing the spectacles he was wearing and giving the bridge of his nose a rub. It seemed that despite their recent victories, he still had that same weariness about him that had become almost synonymous with his name. “And don’t waste your breath if you’re just hungover and looking for an excuse to laze around in my medbay. I’ll know.”

“First Aid’s medbay, actually,” Rodimus said pointedly as he took a seat on one of the examination tables. His gripped the edge of it while his legs dangled freely over the side. “And I’m not, but thanks for the vote of confidence.”

Ratchet rolled his chair over with a resigned sigh. He likewise skipped the pleasantries in favor of jumping right into his standard examination. As he shined a light in Rodimus’ optics and scrutinized Rodimus’ response to it, he asked, “What in particular has been bothering you?”

“Well,” Rodimus began, but he trailed off into an uncomfortable silence as he struggled to place a name to the malaise that had only grown more potent since his morning fuel. “I’m, uh - huh. Dunno how exactly to put it. Just, not feeling like myself?”

“Hm,” was all Ratchet said in response to that entirely vague rundown of symptoms. He tapped Rodimus’ forearm then and said, “Open up. I’ll do a system scan. Who knows what you could’ve picked up while on Mederi.”

Rodimus blinked. It took a moment for him to process the request before he complied. “Wait, really? You believe me?”

“Seeing as you’ve never been exactly proactive about your health, and you came here without your usual theatrics, I’m assuming something must be wrong,” Ratchet said. He dragged over one of the diagnostic terminals and plugged the cable into Rodimus’ port, doing so with the efficiency and care of someone who had mastered the act beyond even muscle memory and turned it into an art form. “And despite what I said, I do still want to give my patients the benefit of the doubt. Too many practitioners don’t nowadays.”

Rodimus didn’t have a witty response prepared in the face of Ratchet’s sincerity. He went quiet as Ratchet analyzed the stream of information being downloaded onto the terminal, only fidgeting occasionally as he was laid bare in a series of numbers and letters that would only make sense to a seasoned physician. 

“Nothing unusual,” Ratchet said as the scan ended with a rather anticlimactic ping. “Nearly died pulling that stunt of yours with the Matrix and your vitals are all perfectly normal. No wonder you newer builds think you’re goddamn invincible.”

“Don’t sound so happy about it, Doc,” Rodimus said. At least Ratchet’s surly attitude was a constant he had come to rely on, like something of an old friend. “So, what? I’m SOL?”

Ratchet was quiet as he unplugged Rodimus and put the diagnostic equipment away, apparently having neither a sarcastic quip or medical wisdom immediately at the ready. When he finally did speak he was back in his seat, looking up at Rodimus with their knees brushing in what felt like an oddly intimate moment in a relationship that had known its fair share of rough patches. 

“I’m not a psychiatrist, Rodimus,” Ratchet said. “I wish I could help you but believe it or not, I don’t have all the answers. My advice would be to stop pissing around and confront whatever it is that’s bothering you. You may not like the answer you’ll get, but at least you’ll get some closure.”

He stood, but not before giving Rodimus’ leg a reassuring pat. “You’ve survived far worse. It’s gonna take more than something like this to bring you down.”

**______________________________**

Rodimus decided to take the more appealing and decidedly less mature route and avoid the problem - and what, or rather who, was the likely cause of it - altogether. 

His plan was promptly foiled as soon as it had been formulated. 

“Me and Drift?” Rodimus repeated dumbly, but fortunately him and Megatron were now beyond the level of petty where his co-captain would point out such a thing.

“He personally requested it,” Megatron said. He handed a datapad off to Rodimus. “I was pleasantly surprised. He seems eager to take on the responsibility of a command position again.”

Rodimus gave the contents of the datapad a cursory glance. He was hesitant to call it ‘intel,’ given how little information it actually contained: a few images and journals that they’d managed to cull from the Cybertronian archives on the web - or what remained of them, after the war.

“A scouting mission, huh,” Rodimus said. The planet they were circling above didn’t seem to have a proper name, to their knowledge, and in its place was given the incredibly impersonal title of ‘XT-113.’ “Been a little while since I’ve gotten to do one of these.”

Not since those days they’d spent roaming the galaxy, jetting from one distress call to another with the ultimate goal of their quest nothing more than a distant memory in the face of altruism. Rodimus had always been reluctant to bother with ‘protocol’ and sending scouting parties out ahead of the cavalry, but Megatron had been adamant about holding the safety of the crew above all else. 

Rodimus had chalked it up to Megatron being an ‘organophobic asshole’ at the time. Now he was inclined towards the more charitable interpretation that Megatron genuinely did view their well-being as a priority.

“Ultra Magnus is running a safety check on the shuttle right now,” Megatron said. “Be prepared to depart in two hours. Unless you have any objections to this?”

Megatron’s gaze wasn’t antagonizing, but it had a way of making Rodimus feel as if all of his carefully crafted defense mechanisms had been ripped away, leaving him vulnerable at the former warlord’s feet. No wonder Megatron had been able to command such respect and loyalty from his troops.

“A mission alone with my best friend, huh?” Rodimus mused. He glanced out the window, finding the sight of XT-113 below their orbit preferable to Megatron’s probing state. “On the first planet in this brand new universe of ours.”

Such a task certainly wasn’t conducive to avoiding his problems, but the thought of explaining whatever psychosomatic malady had led him to seek out Ratchet’s help to Megatron - and inevitably Drift, who would surely question his rejection - was far from an appealing one. 

“Shuttle bay, two hours,” Rodimus said, keeping his head high as he’d long ago learned to do in the face of adversity. “I’ll be there.”

**______________________________**

“Didn’t know you had a thing for scouting,” Rodimus said as he watched the planet’s atmosphere blink past them on their descent. He couldn’t see much from the tiny window, but he caught a glimpse of green that seemed to confirm their suspicions about XT-113 having a largely tropical climate. 

Drift’s grip tightened on the controls at their rapidly accelerating pace. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” he said, dead set on being as cryptic as he was in the mess hall earlier that morning. “And I guess you could say that being on the lam gave me a bit of a taste for adventure.” 

“Huh.” Rodimus kept his nose pressed against the glass of the window, even as his expression dipped into something more sullen.

“That wasn’t a dig, you know,” Drift said gently. “Relax, Rodimus. Forgiveness. It would be hypocritical of me to not practice what I preach. I don’t make a habit of twisting the knife. Much.”

That last bit was likely more sincere than Drift played it off as. Drift’s past was an abstract concept to Rodimus, something that always felt more like a myth used to whip bratty young Autobots into behaving on the battlefield, lest they find themselves staring down the barrel of Deadlock’s rifle. But Rodimus was slowly learning to piece together a clearer picture of that which Drift only let slip through seemingly innocuous remarks. 

They continued the rest of their brief ride in silence. Their plummet towards the planet’s surface was lacking the finesse that Drift possessed when it came to combat and other such pursuits, and ended in something more akin to a crash than a landing. 

“Well,” Drift said. His gaze remained fixed forward in something of a trance, despite the alarms that felt the need to alert them of their situation and the sprinkler system coming online to douse the fire threat that wasn’t there. 

_“Some things never change,”_ came Megatron’s voice over their comm. channel, and safely out of sight as they were Drift rolled his optics at the admonishment.

**______________________________**

__

__

_“Are you sure the two of you can handle this on your own?”_

Drift switched off his comm. He figured that would be enough of an answer for Megatron, and decided to worry about the consequences of insubordination later. Somehow he knew that Megatron’s tolerance for attitude would have increased out of necessity, given the newfound company he kept.

“Whoa.” Rodimus whistled as he hoisted himself out of hatch of their downed shuttle. “Not quite Cybertron, is it?”

A remarkable understatement, given the sight that greeted them. The Cybertron they had spent the majority of their lives knowing was a wasteland, another casualty in an endless war that had stripped it of any trace of its former glory. 

The planet they now set foot on was a paradise in comparison. The charred patch of earth beneath their transport was an anomaly among the lush vegetation. The canopy created by the intricate meshing of trees provided shelter from the unforgiving heat of the sun, while the dense thicket on either side of them concealed chittering creatures. Vines drooped down, weaving between and around the tree trunks like veins and creating the illusion of the forest as a single living entity.

“Incredible, isn’t it?” Drift said. He kept his voice quiet, fearing that carrying on with normal conversation would ruin the serenity of the landscape around them. “It’s easy to forget sometimes that there are places like this, just waiting for us out there. Planets that haven’t been touched by our war.”

He wished there were more of them, or that it hadn’t taken their quantum stunt to find such a paradise, but it didn’t seem fitting to express such remorse when Rodimus was observing the life teeming above and beneath them with such wonder. 

“It’s kinda funny when you think about it,” Rodimus said. He crouched down to observe a trail of insect-like creatures marching along in a line so orderly it would please even Ultra Magnus. They were covered in sharp protrusions and vibrant shades of red and orange that heralded danger, and their impressive mandibles carried sticks and leaves and other bits of debris. “Our whole claim to fame is our ability to change shape but, when you actually sit and think about it? Organic life is so much more diverse than us.”

A winged creature with no other visible appendages and six hauntingly black eyes soared overhead, letting loose a cry that could have just as easily been a call to arms as a song for a prospective mate. It was vindicating, knowing that life forms similar yet entirely different existed on Earth. 

“That must be why it’s so good at bouncing back,” Drift said. “So much life was pushed to the brink of extinction by us, but despite everything it still manages to persist. Amazing, isn’t it? We could learn a thing or too but, then again, we’ve always been pretty stuck in our ways.” His smile was slight, and mourned a Cybertron that he had never gotten to know. “Ironic.”

_“Rodimus,”_ Megatron barked through his comm. _“I know Drift is ignoring me-"_

“That makes two of us,” Rodimus replied before switching off his own link with a smug little smile. He turned to find Drift watching him with an impish smile. “What? He knows we’re not dead. If something does try to kill us we’ll be sure to let him know.”

“Rodimus Prime.” Drift grinned as he addressed Rodimus with that title. Defiance towards authority figures never did fail to lift his spirits. “I think I like you more every day.”

**______________________________**

“Not sure how cut out for this we are,” Rodimus said as he had to stop and detangle more vegetation from his spoiler. 

Drift wasn’t faring much better, but even as he wrestled with some vines and gave a few dramatic swipes with his sword to clear the offending plants, his positive attitude didn’t falter. 

“Where’s your sense of adventure, Rodimus?” he said, his tone provocative despite the fact that there was obvious coolant collecting on his plating. “Don’t tell me you’ve gotten soft on me.”

“First of all,” Rodimus said as he narrowly avoided stumbling over the decaying remnants of a fallen tree. “I surf meteors. Second, screw you.” 

He accompanied that second point with a spiteful nudge. Drift cackled. 

“I’m glad you still have your spark,” Drift said, sounding almost wistful. “Come on, it looks clearer up ahead. I’m sure you can make it. Unless you’d rather I carry you.”

Drift looked back at him with a wink. Rodimus could have combusted. 

The forest seemed as if it was going to gradually taper out into terrain that was more fitting for travelers their size, but it came to a surprisingly abrupt end. Before long they found themselves on near-barren land, the few remaining bits of foliage as charred as the ground they now stood on. A black wasteland stretched towards the horizon, desolate and lonely compared to the vibrant colors and sounds that had characterized the forest. 

“Shit,” was all Rodimus could manage to say.

Drift couldn’t come up with a more eloquent way to express his own feelings. 

“That’s insane,” Rodimus murmured. He glanced between the greenery just behind them and the remains of what had surely been just as magnificent. There was almost a black line separating the forest from its former glory, leaving them to wonder what had stopped the blaze’s path of destruction. “When’s the last time a fire on Cybertron did something like this?”

The answer came to him shortly after. He shook his head, as if that would clear the image of the inferno, the smell of singed metal. 

“I’m sure there’s some lesson here about - I don’t know, maybe the impermanence of life,” Drift said with a dry laugh. Something crunched underfoot as he took a step forward - bones, he realized, from a creature that he wouldn’t have been able to identify. “Sad, isn’t it? You have to wonder what started it.”

Rodimus recalled an incident from his days on Earth, where the sky had been tinged an eerie shade of orange and the air had been laden with toxic materials that set his filtration systems into overdrive. A human had done it, according to the news reports, with nothing more than a careless toss of a cigarette butt. 

Ratchet had ranted about it for days, using language so colorful that it made Wheeljack’s finials flash in an approximation of a blush.

“You think it’ll ever recover?” Rodimus asked.

Drift stooped down and starting to sift through the dirt. After a moment he ushered for Rodimus to join him.

“Eventually it will,” he said, taking care not to crush the bud that was rising from the ashes. He cradled the two tiny leaves that were extending from its stalk, looking like a proud parent watching their child grow and mature. “Life is awfully persistent.”

**______________________________**

There was a pond in the middle of it all, a small oasis that seemed painfully oblivious to the damage that has been done on all sides of it. 

Rodimus sat on the bank with his feet dangling in the water. His HUD was quick to raise a complaint about the sediment and other particles that would later raise hell on his protomesh, but the cool liquid was a nice reprieve after their trek from the shuttle. 

Drift sat cross legged, his focus on the iridescent, lily-like flowers that floated on the tranquil surface of the pond. Bugs that glowed a curious shade of blue skated across the water, their color growing more vivid with each sample of nectar they took. 

“You think Megatron has sent in reinforcements yet?” he asked.

Rodimus snorted. “I’ll bet you he left us. Probably realized he couldn’t handle having both of us around at once and did what Ultra Magnus never had the guts to.”

“You don’t mean that,” Drift admonished, resting his head on Rodimus’ shoulder.

“No, I don’t.” Rodimus was suddenly struck by an unbearable urge to move, to burn off the excess energy that was currently making him hyper aware of Drift’s body against his own. He settled for shredding the grass with his hands instead. “He pisses and moans a lot but you know he’s got a soft spot for us. Mags, too. Otherwise they’d never put up with what they do.”

Drift closed his optics. “I can’t say I’d mind it, though. If they did just leave us.”

“Wait, really?”

“Mhm.” Drift’s ventilations easily fell into the same rhythm as Rodimus’. “We could start our own life here, just the two of us. Fix up the shuttle if we ever needed a change of pace. Go out and explore the galaxy. You and me, just like it was in the beginning.”

“I think you’re getting a little too adventurous,” Rodimus said, resting his head against Drift’s. But he couldn’t deny that the thought had a certain appeal to it when they’d already lost so much time. “Damm, Drift, you know it’s bad when _I’m_ the one being the voice of reason.”

“You’re right,” Drift said. His hand flirted with Rodimus’ thigh, but didn’t commit to it beyond getting Rodimus’ spark racing just a little bit faster. “But today has been nice. I missed this. I missed us.”

There was a hint of nostalgia in Rodimus’ smile. “You and me, against the world. I missed it too. It always seemed so wrong, being on that ship without you.”

Drift hummed in agreement. “Maybe I should have done the selfish thing, and asked you to come with me. ‘Screw the quest,’ and all that. I’d thought about it. Briefly.”

“But destiny, right?” Rodimus said, recalling the way Drift had begged him to carry on towards the Knights, and the supposedly grander purpose that called for his innocence. 

That last conversation they’d had in his office was one that he had replayed in his mind often, always hoping for a different outcome that he knew would never come. 

Part of him knew that it was time to let it go. He’d faced the consequences of his actions in that room on the Necroworld, had been forgiven despite his cowardice. But it was always easier said than done when it came to extending such kindness towards himself. 

“Yeah,” Drift said with a sigh. “And I don’t regret what I did. Hearing you back there, seeing everything you’d done. It made it all worthwhile.”

“You’re getting all sentimental on me.” Rodimus said. In a bold display of hypocrisy he dared to rest his hand on top of Drift’s. It felt warm and familiar, and Rodimus remembered that time when he’d taken an interest in chirolinguistics only to drop it shortly after in favor of a new pursuit that had captured his attention. “Can’t blame it on the ~love~ in the air this time so, what is it? The view?”

Drift tilted his head so that he could whisper in Rodimus’ audial. His confession was no louder than the breeze that tickled the reeds, or the rustle of critters as they bundled in their nests to await the coming dawn. 

“I think I love you, Rodimus Prime.”


End file.
